Author: R. M. Dolin

Old oaks yearn to yield more freelyto the Santa Anna’s. Dust covers tracks as rapidlyas they’re laid in the same way the past cascades over acollision of words left unspoken and moments allowed to pass.Easy memories are seldom retained,which is why we grow hard in …

You feel the trigger twitch in determination even thoughit’s still a long way from completing the cycle. In a worlddivided by death and reluctance the dichotomy ofcommitment is final.“How old is your soul?” the armadillo quietly asksthe hawk hunting in downward spirals.“Old enough to have …

R.M. Dolin, 2015 Memories, like an angel’s share, can’t be touchedbut they are both real still the same.As is quiet darkness and all those thingsthat should have been. Love isa cradled burst of brilliance followed bygravity sending sadness into the cosmos.Moments ago he felt her …

I am the frontier farmer who, like my fatherand his father before, dares to imagine a day whenthings can be more fantastic. I am the clerk who never considers theconsequences of corruption or the cascading waycause and effect implicate the soul untillife brought me to …

Everything fades, which requires coming to terms withjust how hard it is to establish a new normal. Like lateharvest grapes turning in the sunwe’re all damaged goods.Decisions made in haste. Desperate to delineatethe fine line separating heaven from hell,the wise man culls what he no …

We were there when the statue crumbled.When humble people stood together and bledfor something better. We remember the Holodomor,the callous calculating way savages act in self interestand realize every nation is susceptible.The world turns on minor moments leaving us in aweat all those things we …

Feathers serendipitously float as afunction of gravity coupled with time whileboulders predictably drop insingle variable suddenness. All of life isrelative, including time, which is why inthe land of mañana even an hour candrag for days with the fatal flaw offeathers dancing on the timeless breathof …

Infinite are life’s roads,often past fields laid fallow in the sun.The quietness of sparrow. The softness ofcottonwood. How did we get here? Avalanches are born in unsuspecting screams.Gently nudging change untilgravity takes over. Breathing is not living.Fighting does not define heroic.We ignore whispers in wind …

Why does night encase emptiness as if we are one? Why does light beyond the edge of darkness tease at attainability?Who are these men? How did I get here? A heroic cowboy, a principled man ironically misplaced, a slave on the run; what do we …

Between truth and all those thingswe’re made to believe lays the destiny tied to ournature. In some it can be listening with a soft heart orcharging into matters partially informed andfully confident. Some are builders whileothers take. There are those who bend in acquiescence and …